


Ache

by charcoalscenes



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Biting, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Dry Humping, Fluff and Smut, Marking, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Other, Post-Canon, Teasing, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23985823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalscenes/pseuds/charcoalscenes
Summary: One can say that Astral misses him, and this is true. One can say that Astral wishes to stay with him, and this is also true. To say that Astral's feelings stop there would be a fallacy. To say that Yuma and yearning have not changed Astral in some fundamental way would be a denial. Astral continues to change. Astral has become someone who desires.Or, alternatively: Post-series romance where everything might be the same, except…
Relationships: Astral/Tsukumo Yuuma
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please mind the tags/warnings. Hope you enjoy!

Ena was not wrong, and Eliphas was not paranoid. These are both extremely inconvenient truths for Astral. 

It started with small things. Astral has been visiting Earth for so long now after obtaining the Numeron Code. In all that time, yes, Astral has sometimes gone too far, one might say, when overcome with some strong emotion or other. Nothing worse than what had occurred in Sargasso had ever happened again, though. 

As a matter of fact, it’s been just the opposite: They help protect the universe. Yuma and their friends aid them. Whenever Astral is given the chance, they stay by Yuma’s side, more or less as before, spending time with friends – and spending time with him. 

Things have been ridiculously happy. They’ve voiced it already, on a starlit night and quietly on Yuma’s rooftop. “I’m so happy to be here with you.” They told him. He’d blushed, and stuttered, but they went on. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than I have been since meeting you.” 

Yuma took it all as well as Astral could have expected. They’ve increasingly found the color of Yuma’s neck and cheeks – all the way up to his ears – whenever their partner got flustered incredibly lovely. Astral thinks that was the first time they started noticing something strange. They couldn’t stop staring at his throat, nor could they stop thinking about all the blood that was resting and warm under his skin – how Astral had been the reason for it to bloom as softly as it did in their partner just then. Naturally, that made the color on him, in him, theirs; Yuma’s blood was theirs. 

The thought is what had startled them. Still, they continued to stare, and Yuma, as unhelpful as ever, shifted under the scrutiny. The odd urge to hold all that squirming in their arms rose up, but of course, they reigned in any sudden reaction, choosing instead to observe, in silence, what was happening to them. 

They forget what had broken that trance, but since then, there have been more signs. The two of them hug often. As it is, Astral does not shy away from skinship with any of their friends, though Yuma is who they tend to touch the most – an arm around his shoulders, a casual holding of hands, or simply sitting close beside him so that their sides touch. After too long being unable to connect with anything physically, the ability to do so since has been regarded as a gift, almost, and Astral doesn’t squander it. 

It was during one such hug – the last moment of privacy that they and Yuma would have before Astral had to leave for their homeworld again – that Astral had hurt him for the first time since their physical manifestation. 

Yuma had flinched, suddenly, while in Astral’s embrace. “Ah, ah – _ow!_ ” And Astral withdrew, confused, inspecting what could have caused it. “You’re so strong! What–” Yuma looked over his shoulder. “I think– you scratched me?” 

“Did I?” At the prompt, they looked down at their hands – and, sure enough, their nails had sharpened in a way it hadn’t been (they don’t think so?) just a moment or so before. Rather than nails, they resembled short talons, sharp at the tip and – Astral themself gasped – stained with a bit of blood. 

Yuma sounded only chagrined, not an ounce hurt – thank goodness. “Well, what happened? You forgot to cut your nails?” 

“I never had to cut my nails before. Are you alright?” They moved him to better survey the damage. As it was, it seemed like just a scratch – from where their fingers had held him at the crook between his neck and shoulder. “Does it hurt?” 

“Not really. It did though, when you hugged me. Like, not just here – it was _so! tight!_ ” Yuma reported with no shortage of enthusiasm. Though he said it with perfect levity, the description and truth of it unsettled Astral. Yuma didn’t notice, and laughed. “I guess that means you’ll miss me! Well, _good!_ Serves you right for always leaving…” 

He’s been getting more honest and adamant about his feelings on the matter. Always, “I know what you do is important and all,” only to be followed by, “but do we have to be apart so often?” And though Astral’s stance on the matter only mirrors his, they haven’t been so verbal. Now that Yuma has, though, it’s as though their own discontent is amplified. 

Their time apart from him has felt harder lately, harsher, and too long for Astral’s liking. They went to Ena first before Eliphas; the former is often able to better handle multitasking or any interruption from her daily routine better than the world’s guardian can. Besides, she always seems more resourceful, anyway. If anyone can think of a way for Astral and Yuma to stay in contact even when worlds apart, perhaps it’s Ena. 

In the meantime, however, between Ena’s studies and Eliphas’s duties, along with Astral’s own, there was simply the waiting. There was simply the strange impression that their world – and everything else, for that matter – was simply far too silent, and far too lacking, without Yuma there beside them. 

Physically, it ached. Astral was familiar with the feeling, though this period in particular came dangerously close in its similarity to how they felt during their darkest times, when Yuma was farthest away from them. Astral hadn’t thought of it in so long, but the memories came unbidden: Astral, alone in the Key, or otherwise trailing behind him, and Yuma unmindful of their presence while his whole focus maintained on someone else for weeks on end – on Shingetsu, before Vector; and then on Vector, before Dark Zexal. 

Astral tried, then, not to think about it – at least not in that sense. That road in particular is a dangerous one to travel on, and they can only imagine where it could lead. But that didn’t stop it from hurting – at first, simply inside, emotionally. 

But it was like a dam that they willfully let break free; after all, why wouldn’t they simply allow themself to feel Yuma’s loss temporarily? Yet it crashed into every aspect of their life. Searching the skies of their world only reminded them of how far away he was, or of how he would adore the view from here, beside them. Every moment they spent alone without the company of their people made them wish for his hand, made the skin of their palm tingle and their fingers itch to hold him. Worse, they began to wonder with some desperation if his missing them was even half of what Astral has been feeling for him. If the yearning was so severe for them, could he be feeling anything close to it? 

The time when Astral could see Yuma again could not come soon enough. They’d returned to Earth feeling weighty, physically – restless and wired to the point of stress. The Numeron Code thrummed inside of them, with them, as though in response to their mind and heart – off balance, and close to bursting. 

Eliphas had not been the only one to have warned Astral, by then. Ena had as well. But those were warnings that Astral did not know what to do with. They had no thought to address it – other than with this, revisiting planet Earth, and holding Yuma once again. They were gentle this time – they made sure of it, so they wouldn’t hurt him – Yuma, though, not so much. 

Perhaps their absence has become just as difficult for him. He does not often cry during their reunions anymore – not since the first couple of times the two of them went through it. He cries now, though. The sight of it helps Astral to relax, even if just a little bit, pleased with the display that Yuma’s attachment to them echoes what the separation does to them, even somewhat. 

They take in all that they can before the two of them meet with their other friends – the warmth of his torso and his face, heated from crying. A smell that is distinct to the inside of his family’s home. The shape of his arms and hands as he hugs them, the indent they make on Astral’s flesh, all down to the press of his fingers. The sounds he makes, whimpers and words, and the vibrations of his chest and shoulders and how they shake to the rhythm of the noise he produces. 

Astral bears all of their senses to him, thinking, at first, that it can soothe the ache, like a balm – tide them over so the stream of their feelings won’t threaten to overwhelm them anymore. 

For a while, that’s what it does. But they forgot that what’s inside them is more like a dam, broken, and Yuma’s tears and presence only add more water to the flood. 


	2. Chapter 2

All the signs return, bit by bit, and then in larger parts, as Astral spends more time with him. Everything Ena said might happen comes true. By now, Yuma’s more than suspicious that Astral may be “going through something”; he’s convinced. But when it comes to voicing it, Astral doesn’t know where to start. 

A grip too tight here, a step too close there. It was easy enough to brush off when it wouldn’t last so long – when Astral would catch themself or Yuma wouldn’t think much of it and Astral could quickly loosen their grip with an apology. But it’s happened too often. They were caught simply staring at him too often. 

Their favorite place has become the hollow of Yuma’s neck, which is a new development. Their partner was reluctant, at first, of course blushing all over and stammering over the intimacy of it – but that didn’t deter Astral. Quite the opposite, actually; the urge came back, again, to wrap themself around all that squealing, all that squirming, and relish as they stifle it. They only wish, now, that they could rest themself completely onto him, everywhere – settle onto the liveliness that is Yuma. 

Ena had said, “We don’t know everything about you yet.” Cautious and like a confession, like she was admitting a failure, but Astral didn’t mind the tone. Sometimes – no, often, they forget what they truly are – or, rather, what they originally were meant to be. 

Being reminded is of no consequence to them. But it's through issues like these that they find their origins can be potentially troubling. “How so?” They asked. 

“When Eliphas realized that your sentience could arouse emotion– passion – he knew that it may interfere with…what  _ was _ your purpose. He still maintains a…suspicion that your body cannot house a large amount of…” 

“…Chaos.” Astral finished for her. Silently, they knew. Chaos is an apt word for the raging storm that’s been brewing inside of them. “Too much of an emotion can give way to chaos. This form was built to fight it, not house it.” 

Yet house it Astral does. It's confirmed that the effects are physical now. Astral has destroyed one nail cutter, and snuck in a replacement before anyone could notice. Now, Astral allows Yuma to be under the impression that Astral does nothing about their claws out of sheer stubbornness or laziness, when in reality, the talons seem indestructible. 

There is also a pressure building, and though it swirls and swims through the entirety of Astral’s body, it mostly rises up to their head. It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly what the sensation is other than a peculiar heaviness. The ache that Astral thought reached a highpoint during their last stay in their homeworld instead gets worse, and the thrum of it shifts dully in them – in their chest, in their head. More and more, they wish they could empty it, whatever it is, out. 

“Tell me how to help.” Yuma pleads in earnest. Astral had begged him to spend the day alone with them, and then another, and then another, but between episodes where they did feel lighter and closer to their usual self, they remained morose, clinging. These are the first times Astral had refused to even have meals together with his family or their friends, urging instead that the two of them dine alone. “Please?” Yuma presses.

And Astral says, instinctually, “Come here.” From where they lay on the cushions sprawled on the floor of his attic, they open their arms out to him. At the crux of their problem, they feel, is Yuma. Ena thinks so as well. Eliphas seems to  _ know so _ . A handful of observations were added onto the list that Astral mentally categorized as one pertaining to this most recent issue. One of them is simply that the pressure is somewhat abated just by Yuma being here. 

Less shy than he used to be, Yuma scooches closer and follows Astral’s lead, shifting to rest on their chest. His head on their shoulder, he peers up and, for all he’s worth, manages to keep his frown even in light of the faint blush coloring his cheeks. 

For the umpteenth time, Yuma’s palm comes up to Astral’s forehead, as though an astralian can run a temperature. Astral hasn’t corrected him yet, though, not objecting to the attentiveness or their partner’s misguided efforts. They let him hold his hand there for a moment and hum, “Hmm. You don’t have a fever.” 

“Hmm.” Astral responds. Their own hand comes up from holding Yuma’s waist to dig into the hair at the back of his head. Yuma gasps, and Astral remembers they have to mind the claws now. It’s a mild inconvenience, but on the other hand, it helps them now to comb through the thick locks. Easily enough, they can reach his scalp, rub the tender flesh there. 

“What…What are you doing?” 

They don’t really know, and hold back in answering. The only way they know to answer is to describe, quite literally, the actions they’re taking. Astral is aware that Yuma wants to know  _ why _ they’re touching him like this, but the truth is strangely simple. They hold him because they need him close. They stroke him because they feel good doing it. They want his touch on him. They want to breathe in his scent. They want to wrap in his warmth. 

But they realize it’s only him who can do this for them, and so another, deeper layer of the truth almost slaps Astral across the face. They voice it. “I missed you.” Yuma’s eyes flutter wide, not in surprise but in response to the earnesty. “I’ve missed you so much. I think I missed you so much that I’m not done missing you. Even now that you’re here with me, I miss you.” 

At least he doesn’t cry outright. His eyes tear up, but it’s held there, and Yuma stays quiet for a while, staring into Astral, the hand that checked their forehead moving to cup at Astral’s cheek and sliding to cradle the side of their jaw, stroking comfortingly. 

When he does speak, he says, “It’s been hard. Right? It’s felt…lonely.” He sniffs, and confesses, “It’s felt so lonely. I thought I was going crazy. I…We have so many people around us. But it’s just hard for us to be apart, right? I just…really wish you were here – all the time.” 

Astral also thought that the closer Yuma’s feelings mirror their own, the better chance there is of relieving the weight of it. That’s what it means to share one another’s feelings, isn’t it? To share the weight. But this hits Astral differently. The weight is shared but now somehow doubly heavy. That their truth is mirrored by Yuma only serves to shine a light on the problem like a spotlight, validating it, making it all the more real. The two of them have to do something. Astral has to  _ do something _ . 

“Why is it like that?” Yuma asks, and then his own dam breaks, tears trailing down his cheeks, landing on Astral. His voice cracks, but he manages. “You would think it would’ve gotten easier, that we’d be used to it – saying goodbye so much. Why is it harder now?” 

Yuma’s suffering does something to them. It  _ angers _ them. Their own suffering, now merged with his, melds itself into a single thought, a conviction. They will never let Yuma go again. 

Astral brushes his tears, careful at catching sight of their claws, but as more fall down, they scoop their partner up, pulling him so that they’re both face-to-face, and they kiss the drops that sit on his lashes, and then those that trickle down his cheeks. 

“A–Astral?” 

They know what this looks like. They’re not quite as ignorant to human social behavior as some of their friends still believe them to be. Still, Astral does it without hesitance. They’ve wanted to touch Yuma. They’ve wanted to hear his voice, breathe him in. Their whole self thrummed with the need. Why not comfort him in a way that would comfort themself as well? Why not taste him? 

The flavor of a tear is faint, extremely subtle. Astral has to have more to really distinguish it. They manage to kiss enough of them, letting each sit inside their lips, willing it to reach deep enough so that they can taste them, before Yuma stutters their name again, quieter now – shy. 

His tone piques them. Astral leans back, just enough so that the two of them can take each other in. Yuma’s uncertain face is certainly more surprised now, eyes wide and cheeks red – the brightest Astral has ever seen him. They can practically feel the warmth from him now, drawing them in, promising Astral that they can share in it too. Inside, the ache shifts, morphs, and stills – turns into something new. Yuma’s taste is still in their mouth. Watching him, they lean closer again. 

It isn’t like him to be so quiet – certainly not with matters like this. But there’s something endearing about his silence now, about the way he’s now so pliable for them, and waiting to see what they’ll do. The stillness in them thrums. A normal kiss wouldn’t do. Astral doesn’t want a meeting of closed lips. Inside, the ache – it yawns wide. They start by catching Yuma’s lower lip in a brief kiss, and then they pull them both closer, so they can bite him. 

“Mmph–!” He’s caught fast as soon as the noise is made, Astral holding his head steady, their teeth nibbling him slowly, gentle,  _ gentle _ . Astral feels themself tremble, wanting to keep going – more, a little harder, but they know Yuma can be flighty, can panic. Even with this, just this – Astral feels like this is only the beginning – Yuma’s breathing hitches and pants. He tenses and whimpers in their arms. 

They take more time than they can stand, tugging at his lips, then using their mouth to pry his open, which he does. It is the hardest Astral’s ever had to work to get Yuma to open his usually boisterous and eager mouth, their partner’s shyness coming to the surface in full form. It’s a trait that’s so rarely shown that it only comes up on certain occasions, and now, Astral knows that they want this part of Yuma to be reserved for them alone. Their shy lover. 

Their tongue peeks in. The worst that could happen is Yuma biting down – from shock more than anything, but he doesn’t. Instead, he all but yelps into them, but he keeps his mouth open for them, letting them enter even as the rest of him shakes. Astral’s other hand travels from his waist to his back, stroking once or twice to settle him before keeping grip of him there. 

Astral can’t blame him. Certainly, no one else has ever been here before. The remnants of flavor from their last meal together is still there, and Astral is delighted to find that Yuma’s taste – in here – blends well with the sweets they shared as a snack earlier today. They hum into him, and the vibration seems to have an effect on Yuma, his grip on them tightening. Without helping it, they smile, just before their tongue meets his. 

He pulls back to gasp, and Astral realizes it’s more than just from shock. Their partner needs to breathe, the function more pertinent for him than Astral themself, but the eagerness made them forget. By now, Yuma’s crying is completely replaced by red, rushing up to his face. Again, as though their name is the only word left that Yuma knows, he lets it out, breathy and shaking. And Astral wants more of that, too, their name alone on Yuma’s lips – quiet and weak. Or loud. They realize, suddenly, that they can make him say their name like this, but loud. 

They move their hands, one on his shoulder and the other cradling the back of his head (so warm; his neck is  _ so warm _ ), and they shift, making the two of them switch places – Yuma on his back against the blanket and cushions, and Astral propping themself to loom over him. The grip he has on them is almost painful – it would be, if Astral were a human, or at least giving more attention to it. 

When they lean in again, aiming for his lips once more, he accepts it more readily, mouth open, whimpering at Astral’s eager teeth. Something about the heat from when Astral’s palms steady him is calling, and rather than burrow themself in the cavern of his mouth, they explore this too, now that they have the chance. 

Their mouth slides, open lips and open teeth, from Yuma’s kiss to his jaw. Behind his head, their fingers grip, then tug by his hair gently to angle his head to their liking. This, too, seems to affect him – he does yelp, louder now, and he gasps louder now too, no words coming from him, but noise, nonsensical whimpering, almost confused. Astral closes in at the ridge of the side of his jaw and bites the confusion out of him. 

“Astral!” He squirms, his hardest yet, as though he wants to wriggle free, and Astral pushes down on him without thinking, only responding to what he’s doing – the hand not gripping his hair coming to his shoulder and pinning him down. 

Yuma’s skin, like his tears, has a subtle flavor. The texture is what gnaws at them, soft and almost mushy when pitted against the hardness of Astral’s teeth. It’s as though he was meant for Astral to do this to him. Where they stopped themself when working on his mouth, they allow a bit of it to seep here – clamping down harder, giving into the inexplicable urge to leave a mark. 

“Astral!” He sounds almost like he’s crying again. His body bucks, upward, as though to push them off, and the action brings something else to Astral’s attention. He’s growing hard. Astral responds by pressing into it, their legs maneuvering as best as they have the mind to make them so that they can get a better feel for it – for him. They’re doing  _ this _ to him. “It hurts!” He says. 

Their mouth releases him, and they murmur against his throat. “I’m sorry.” They didn’t know how to warn him. Yet they find themself hopeful, still, that they left a mark. The thought of having left the shape of their teeth on Yuma’s skin… Astral’s head swirls, and there’s the ache again, weighing on them, and somehow, the pressure reaches their mouth. Of course it does. On Yuma, they now want to use their mouth on everything, to do anything. Their voice sounds rough to their own ears. “Yuma…should we stop?” 

“I…I don’t know…” He admits. Astral can only imagine what he must be going through. They themself don’t want to stop – but it’s hard to tell where this will lead. If it will lead to… “Ah…” Yuma wriggles beneath them again, trying to move his lower half. His voice cracks in a more familiar tone of embarrassment, clear enough from just the look on his face. “Astral…” He says, uncertainly. “I…” 

They rub against him, there, and he arches back, a small gasp escaping him before he twists his head, his face cringing and directed to the side. 

–Which will not do. “Yuma.” Astral grips his hair again, and even as they turn him towards them, they tell him out loud, “Look at me.” 

His eyes are closed stubbornly, a couple of stray tears breaking through, and though Astral knows he would have peered up to meet their stare eventually, it’s a second too long for their liking. Partly as retribution for making them wait, they grind against him again, harder. 

_ “I said look at me.” _

“Astral, please…” He cries, even more so when Astral doesn’t stop, not even when he finally does as they say. “I’ve never… I’ve never…” 

“I know.” They pause, then, and their hand slides to his hips. Whether he’s aware of it or not, he’s started bucking in a clumsy tandem with them. “Yuma…” They start, a dash of hesitance now seeping in. Still, they tell him, “Move your legs.” 

“What…” 

“So I can help you.” Astral is already moving to adjust their position, ready to settle in over his hardness in a way that would make sense. “If you want me to.” They just stop themself from pleading, knowing this is something he’ll have to meet them halfway on. Instead, they stroke his hip, their hand dipping underneath the hem of his shirt, rubbing the skin they’ve come to admire so much, and then wrapping their hand over it. “Let me take care of you.” 

After a moment of hesitation, Yuma complies, again following Astral’s lead, adjusting himself to accommodate them. Astral releases Yuma’s hair, the hand on his hip moving up, and hiking his shirt up with it. His breath hitches, and Astral pulls it up enough for him to raise his arms up for them to remove it. 

When the bunch of cloth reaches his biceps, they stop, their action stilled at the sight of him beneath them, arms over his head and the rest of him sprawled bare.  _ Vulnerable. _ Astral holds his arms down like that, aware that Yuma’s focus is on their own gaze, their eyes trailing from one end of him and slowly down to take the rest in. Astral lingers on the rise and fall of his chest, and the dip of his torso as he heaves. They’ve never had him like this before. No one has. Now, no one else ever will. 

“Stay like that.” They say before releasing him. “Don’t move.” If it weren’t for their promise to help relieve his own builded pressure, Astral wouldn’t know where to start; all this skin of his to choose from. “Should I…take off your pants? Or… I can help you like this.” 

That part of Yuma’s body is something he’s always been shyest about, after all. “K…Keep them on…” He answers, his voice no louder than a meep. “Astral… Are we really going to…?” 

They brace their hands on either side of him and rock, experimentally at first, watching to see his reactions to their movements. In a few moments, Astral finds the right way to make Yuma moan, and he moves underneath them, his hips answering to theirs, his hands starting to reach up to grasp onto them. 

Astral reaches out without stopping, and pushes his arms back on the floor. “Don’t.” They snap. It’s harsher than intended, but there’s no remorse in them. “Don’t move.” 

“Astral…!” 

“You’re too loud. Do you want someone to come in?” At that, his face grows redder, shame mixing with arousal, and he bites the tongue Astral is supposed to bite for him. He struggles to minimize the noise he makes, then, his moans forcibly getting tighter, and Astral wants him to keep composure as best he can while he’s being ridden and used like this – wants to be the one to  _ break _ him. Their mouth aches. They pant and go on. “Do you want someone to hear you? We didn’t lock the door, Yuma. We never do. Should someone come up here and see you like this? …See us like this? I can show them, Yuma. I can show them if you’re not quiet.” 

And he actually sobs, as softly as he can, “I’ll be quiet…” He bobs as he promises, helpless to Astral’s ministrations in the middle of his dilemma, and his voice is uneven with the movements his body is forced to make. Astral wants to ingrain this moment into their mind; wants even more. “Please…” 

“Stay still.” They tell him. “The bucking, it’s noisy. But that’s what you want, isn’t it? You should be naked, Yuma. The next time we do this – I’ll give you a reason to get loud about it.” 

“Astral, please…!” And as best he can, he does keep himself steady, heeding Astral words and willing his hips to react less to Astral’s grinding, to simply hold himself steady and allow Astral to ride him as they please. “I… I…” 

They know. They lean in closer, their whole body vibrating while rocking over his, and they stroke his cheek gently, almost as an apology for the heavy teasing. But being just that much closer to him brings it to attention again how much Astral will yet have to do to him. Now that they’ve had this taste, now that they’ve both opened this door, Astral knows they’ll need to do everything to him. 

A hand flies belatedly over his mouth as his moans increase in volume again, his eyes closing the closer he comes to climax, and Astral dives in just before he does, their jaw clamping on the side of his throat, in the nook where they’ve rested their head countless times before, and they bite, this time hard and quick. The liquid inside of him gushes, from both beneath Astral's mouth and beneath Astral's hips, almost simultaneously, and Astral wishes that they could take both types in at that moment – but just this one will do for now. 

Just this one will do, indeed. 

Yuma cries out from beneath their hand, his raised shoulder knocking onto Astral’s head while he orgasms, arching into them. Even as he does, his arms fly up again, hands fumbling to Astral’s back. Astral reaches behind them and pries him back easily enough, the shirt tangled still on Yuma’s arms giving them an advantage, and they pin him back down, arms more or less over his head again. The rest of Astral lays completely on top of him. 

This is what Astral has been aching for. They realize this now. Not just one part of the experience, but everything – and more. They’ve ached for Yuma. It was clear enough, but it’s one thing to know something objectively and another to experience the sensation first-hand. Their skin ached for this. Their soul wanted his. Their teeth yearned for this. 

They think they can taste his soul in his blood. It’s subtle, but Astral can make it out. The lightness in it. The life of him. Not a drop escapes the inside of their mouth and goes to waste on the sheets or floor. Even remnants of it that might be on his skin, Astral will lap it up. Yuma – it was all Yuma. Their chaos craves his. 

He starts to struggle beneath them, his crying out louder now against their palm, and like that, their eyes fly open. They didn’t realize they’d closed them. Immediately, they pull back, sitting up, giving him room to crawl from underneath them. He doesn’t flee right away, only gasping, and Astral can see that it’s still in large part from pleasure. The spike of fear that went through them, though, now dances unsolicitedly with their own desire. Did they hurt him?  _ Did they hurt him? _

Yuma’s hand comes up to his neck as he barely succeeds in propping himself up by his elbow. There’s no blood flowing, but there is a large mark there – and above it, too, from Astral’s earlier gnawing. He checks his hand to find nothing, and by that, Astral is also fairly surprised. It hadn’t been a nibble. Yet even as they were chewing him, they knew instinctively at that moment that they can make it so  _ not a drop from him goes to waste _ . 

Their hand flies up to their own mouth now. They had wanted all of him for themself. Then, as their hand presses into their lips in their own horror, they feel it. Their teeth. The ache has abated somewhat, but it’s still there, thrumming. Their teeth feel bigger now, in their mouth, against their hand. More shapely, too – sharper. 

“A…Astral…?” 

Yuma’s concern wracks at them, and their eyes fly up to meet his. There’s still trepidation there, but it’s overshadowed by his care. He sits up, finally, making to reach out to them. When his gaze lands and lingers for too long on the hand Astral has on their mouth, they know that he must be catching on, too. Not only that; Astral chances a look at their other hand, and much to their confusion, they’re greeted by what they expect. Their talons have only grown and hardened in just the short span of their lovemaking. 

When Yuma asks, plaintive, “Wh…What happened…?” Astral wishes they can answer in a way that might make sense, that might be more acceptable than only what they know and are aware of at this time. Their answer now would only be that Astral wanted Yuma’s blood, because it felt good. And that’s not sufficient enough. That would explain nothing.  _ Why? Why does it feel good? _

_ Because, Yuma, it’s from you. Everything that’s yours – I’ve been aching for you to belong to me. _

“I don’t know.” They say instead. Astral’s hand leaves their mouth, leaving it uncovered. Their lips, their teeth, their tongue – it’s all clean with not a speck of blood. Because Astral drank it all up already, soaked him in, like their own body is eager for him. Like he was made for them. Even now, the yearning towers over the uncertainty and fear, showing itself in their appearance, and grating itself into their voice. “I don’t know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever yearn, folks? Feel free to let it out in the comments. In general, too.
> 
> And always practice safe hair tugging. Look up instructions! Start very small, and very gentle! Stay safe; no pulling! Thank you for reading.


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